


happy times

by arockdeadloser



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 02:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20323243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arockdeadloser/pseuds/arockdeadloser
Summary: happy times. happy thoughts.anshin, anshin~be happy, be happy~





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi, guys! i'm not a native english speaker, so i'm posting my mini works mostly for beta reading, to be true. if you find out any mistakes, please tell me about them, so i could boost my skills a little?   
and i will be very happy if you like my writing and leave some feedback!   
these sketches are a result of my broken heart, emotinal instability and unrequited love ):

happy times. happy thoughts.

anshin, anshin~

be happy, be happy~

it smells like death in here. like something died a thousand times over, revived itself only to die again and again, an unending circle of DEATH and PAIN and MISERY and SHITTY LIFE (can you even call THAT thing a life, kiddo?). it smells like loneliness – a dreary smell, a smell of salty ocean in the middle of nowhere, its waters cold and dark, trembling under corpulent grey clouds eating the sky away bit by bit, the sand is wet and hard under the bare soles of your feet, you’re alone and it’s so SAD, SAD and very SAD. you think that you see something in the water, something white and pure and oh so magnetic, uncanny in its mystery and beautiful in the fuzzy darkness of an endlessly moving liquid. you go there, you dive deep, you plunge right in. never to surface again.

it smells like something rotting. like something forgotten. like something put aside for later and never to be used. like fish guts. like a dozen dead cats, their once glorious fur now bleak and matted, eyes bleary and purulent. you step right on them, cause you can’t see where you’re going, cause it’s so dark around and you’re actually blind and you’re on the bottom of a fucking ocean remember that!? and their insides are bursting up, intestines and putrid meat flying around, the smell makes you cry and sob and say “i’m sorry, i'm so damn sorry, please forgive me” over and over again, but they don’t listen. they don’t care. no one cares. what's done is done and you can’t change it.

it smells like HIM. every lamentable, pathetic, repugnant, desolate smell you can imagine, every disgusting thing inconspicuously small and immensely huge, every goddamn thought or picture or noise that makes you puke your insides out and scratch your eyes and cut off your ears – it’s him. unbearable. intolerable. unendurable. insufferable.

impossible.

it's him.

a home she never was in. never stepped inside. never knew about. still, he sees her everywhere.

lying on his old uncomfortable sofa, too shabby, napless and stiff. “wanna watch something tonight?”

sitting on the kitchen counter in his old t-shirt too big for her, nothing else underneath. “hey, you hungry? i've made this awesome pizza for you! ‘kay, just kiddin’, i've ordered it. but it’s your favorite! i've eaten almost all of it too, but there are some pieces left…”

taking shower in his bathroom. “gimme some privacy, will ya? a girl needs some alone time. oh, well, don’t just stand there. you joining me or should i wait forever?”

on his bed, under the covers, nude and messy, warm from sleep, looking so fragile, naïve and sweet. “come here, baby, i've missed you”.

he wants to wake up, he wants to dream forever. the reality is cold and unforgiving, creeping under his shirt with droplets of icy nightmare sweat, and the bedsheet is soaked through replicating the outline of his body. there are ghosts of her everywhere, eerie ethereal creatures, and he goes right past one on his way to the bathroom, her gaze and smile predatory, all-knowing, fierce. he throws up and then curls up in himself on the chilly white tiles.

it hurts so much, the constant throbbing pain inside, a black hole engulfing everything around, greedy, sucking his life in, every good emotion, every good deed – you like that? you feel nice? serene? peaceful for once? you don’t deserve it. i will destroy it. like you’ve destroyed everything yourself once, like…

like i'm you.

eat it. take everything. choke on it. get your fill. chew, munch, chaw. get bloody spit on your chin and brand-new shirt. take this bleeding tired heart and sink your teeth right in. nip the meat off bit by crying bit. it still beats, you see? it still hurts.

and it will hurt forever.

there’s a certain setting, like a hollywood movie script. “hey, you seem a little tense lately? try this, it will help you relax”. a rather peculiar thing, a sparkling iridescent ball that fits perfectly in his rough palms, like a magic charm, like a blessing from a quest game with a marking “to be used only in critical situation once”. a half empty bottle of vodka, a paper-knife, this mysterious ball. disgustingly pink and shining with a thousand little glowing stars – small supernovas, dying slowly. it shatters and blurs, fades away in the clean waters of a bathtub leaving only “the shocking pink” behind, deliquescing at the bottom of the ocean he rests at. that’s what l o v e feels like, right? so wholesome, unbelievably beautiful, absolute and complete at the first sight, so e a t a b l e and d i g e s t a b l e, and you wanna OWN it, but you can’t, cause it’s not for you. it's never for you. and the blood is oozing slowly from the cuts on his thighs, once kissed and caresses with affection, now bleeding profusely. the blood swirls and blends in, colour getting more deep and meaningful – you see this? do you see this? this is the colour of DEATH drowning slowly in the WATERS OF FORGETFULNESS, not your stupid black or grey that you like to wear so much. this.

and he writes solemnly on the bright white edge of the bathtub with little crimson droplets of blood, with his whole life flowing right out of him in this godly moment: your names under a triangular umbrella, japanese style.

(like they are in a middle-school that they’ve never attended together; under a big spreading tree that doesn’t exist; words carved in the bark with his scratched and bloody fingernails; forever and ever).

the world is ending but I’ll be around for a while


	2. 2

/ he turns into a ghost himself.

a thin and almost sheer creature, looking like a piece of a transparent polyethylene flying around in a midst of a storm, forgotten, discarded, wasted. unnoticeable almost, never looking anyone right in the eye on the streets, flowing past like an illusion, a shadowy shapeless existence, completely unnecessary in this blooming bright world, lively and cheerful.

that's what he feels like.

/ a ghost in his own apartment, never knowing what to do with himself alone at home, drinking every evening till he passes out on the sofa without taking a shower – wake up groggy in the morning, feeling dead and useless, heart turned inside out, everything in the wrong place, even his insides; go to college, try to smile, give it up, buy another bottle on his way home and the woman at the counter never asks for his ID cause… does he even exist to have one? does he even have an i d e n t i t y ?

drink till you don’t care anymore, wake up crying, pillow wet and eyes red and scabrous, hate yourself, sob and choke with tears falling down and drowning your neighbors downstairs, ignore their dying screams asking for help and salvation, gulp down your broken heart that wishes to flee so much, crush to little pieces and sharp splinters everything black and gooey and sticky and so desperate that is streaming out of your pores. stop it. stop it.

/ a ghost on her social media pages, checking out every little change that has happened past these five minutes, ten, half an hour: new friends, new followers, new picture, new description under her nickname, new life, new memories without him, like he doesn’t exist, like he NEVER WAS THERE. waiting for her text after a week, a month, a year; waking up in the middle of the night to check your phone – nothing – go to sleep – check again – nothing – please go to sleep – maybe this time – is she online – GOD DAMN YOU GO TO FUCKING SLEEP!

HOW COULD YOU

tears streaming down his face. it hurts. it hurts so much, the sizzling agonizing pain is ripping through him, cutting at the flimsy seams of his broken body and tormented soul, he feels so full of it, he feels like he’s going to O V E R F L O W, burst into a thousand bloody pieces and paint the world around blood red and mournful; it makes him feel like a caged animal, like a wild tiger roaring and trashing around in a crumpled space; it makes him grab a kitchen knife and LET IT OUT with deep stinging cuts on his ill and aching body, bones brittle and rickety, veins blue and glowing magically under porcelain skin eaten out by fatal diseases under the name of unrequited love.

/ a ghost on the streets full of memories, a reminiscence of precious time spent together, vivid and once lively pictures turning cold second by second like fresh and still warm corpses piled up on each other: here she told him a story, here she looked so magnificent and beautiful in the tender morning light, here he tripped and fell and she laughed so hard her stomach ache, here they had a fight cause he wanted to keep walking and she was too tired, here they kissed and ...

he hates this town. he feels miserable and heart-broken in its every corner, but it’s no better anywhere he goes, anywhere he flees, anywhere he tries to escape: every new place is screaming at him with possibilities that you COULD have been walking here with her, you COULD have been holding hands, you COULD have been taking pictures and laughing and joking and teasing each other and ... you could’ve been happy.

HOW COULD YOU

what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger they say but that’s not true; and it’s not strength when you close yourself up; it’s not strength when you forbid yourself to feel again; it’s not strength when you turn cold and icy, emotionless and uncaring.

it means you’ve given up. it means you’ve let go.

but that’s exactly what they did, didn’t they?

/ he is a ghost haunting his bedroom, lying on his bed with eyes opened and glassy, gazing at the moving shadows on the dark ceiling. death is waiting in the hallway and he is welcoming it with open arms.

come here, baby.

i've been waiting so long.

bodies nude and intertwined.

her breath warm on his cheek.

finally.


	3. 3

the biggest mistake i’ve ever made

was loving you.

but that’s not true and we both know it.

i miss those times. when loving you was easy.

coming home to you every day, back to your loving arms and a warm smile, “how was your day” and the sweetest laugh, talking about everything the world can possibly offer or only imagine, your soft voice lulling and soothing.

\- you, laughing openly, happiness pouring out of your every pore;

\- you, crying quietly and the sadness is taking over, but i'm there, i'm there to hold you and comfort you and tell you that you're the best, the one and only, and oh how i...

\- you, raging, mean words not really meant to be said, blaming each other for things buried deep inside, things ascending to the restless surface once peaceful and serene, now shaken up and turned inside out;

\- us, not talking to each other for a day, a week, a month (was it longer?), the end of it gnawing at me, tearing my insides into bleeding pieces, nibbling at my sides with sharp teeth and cutting claws; it hurts; is this really it? is this really the end?

\- me, wanting to end it badly: it cannot go on like this forever, there's no way, it's like a thorn piercing my skin, the wound is sore and itchy, bleeding drop by a crimson drop; a stake in my chest, stuck deep inside the shriveled and bloodless heart, long dead;

\- me, swallowing my pride, breaking the ice, unsure of the consequences, “should I really do this? maybe it’s better this way”; you, crying, “why did you wait so long? i’ve missed you so much. sorry, i’m so sorry”;

\- us, happy and full of love.

i’ve never said those words. i didn’t have the guts. i don’t know whether i regret it or not.

i’ve imagined us, being together, everywhere i’ve been or only have been dreaming to be: eating crème brûlée on top of the eiffel tower, bathing in the warm waters of the côte d'azur under the baking sun, drowning in the sweet smell of lavender fields of provence; conquering the jungles – you, crowned with a wreath made of white magnolia flowers, and the locals are making you their rightful queen; drinking calvados on the hot and sunny streets of spain, every matador falling in love with you at the very first sight, but you have your eyes only for me; praying in japanese shrines, making wishes under the big bell; showing you my homeland with its blooming cherry trees, wind covering us in its sweet smell and playing with your hair softly.

those were beautiful dreams, childish dreams, foolish dreams.

dreams that never come true.

it's different now, we are different, and it is good and bad in its own way, like it meant to be.

you are the most wonderful thing that has happened to me and i'm very grateful for you in my life. we have gone through a lot of things together, we have grown up alongside each other, we have taught each other a lot and shared many magnificent, melancholy, marvelous, intimate and genuinely happy moments.

loving you was always easy and it still is and i will love you forever and ever.

the world is not the same without you.


End file.
